


Hey, Hey

by ididntwannashipit



Series: Welcome to The Zoo [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bands, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12767466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ididntwannashipit/pseuds/ididntwannashipit
Summary: Tyler is going to guest star on the hot new comedy about a band. It's supposed to be full of improv and should be great for his career. But how's he supposed to do improv when he's struck speechless by one of the stars?





	Hey, Hey

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea sitting in my bunny folder about a complete AU where Dylan, Posey, Colton, and Holland were all part of a new TV show that's a modern version of "The Monkees" and Hoech guest stars and well... things happen. :) This is the first part of that. While I'm setting it up as a series, please do not expect regular updates. I will update when the muse strikes, and when I have time to write.

Tyler hesitates on the edge of the set. There’s no reason to be nervous; it’s just a little bit of almost improv. Oh, there’s a script, but it’s not set in stone. He’s been warned that anything goes with this group, and that he should be ready to roll with it.

It’s more than a little terrifying.

“Tyler!” He spots Shelley heading in his direction, one hand raised as she motions for him to step out from the shadows. “Everyone’s just getting warmed up in the dressing room. Are you ready to get going? This is a great show to work on, and right now the publicity is hot. Trust me, if they take a liking to you, you won’t know what hit you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Tyler mutters under his breath. He smiles, does his best to make sure that his eyes crinkle from the effort. “I’m ready to go, Shel. Just tell me I’m not going to hate you for bringing me in on this.”

“You’re not going to hate me.” She stands almost as tall as he does and catches his arm as soon as he’s close, tugs him to follow. “You’ve met Colton before, right?”

“We did a project together once before, yeah.” It was about five years ago, when they were both fairly new to Hollywood and still very young adults, and something he suspects that Colton’s shoved into a closet as deep as Tyler’s own. Or maybe not. Colton always seemed more comfortable with everything, even if he wasn’t out publicly.

Shit. What the hell is Tyler thinking? This is going to be a mess. “Shelley, I’m not good at improv.”

She stops walking outside a door labeled with a giant paper star, colored with gold crayon. “Did you memorize the pages for today?”

Tyler nods. “But—”

She shakes her head. “No buts. If someone goes off script and you’re not comfortable following, we’ll shut it down. Just because these four have some weird rapport doesn’t mean that every guest has to follow them down the rabbit hole. I’d rather stay on script myself.” She hesitates, then leans in close, says quietly, “It’s usually Dylan who starts to ad-lib. If Tyler does—just call him Posey, everyone else does, and it’ll make your life easier—no one wants that in the final cut. He likes dick jokes. A bit too much and too explicitly for the show’s time slot and target audience. But if Dylan wanders off script, just try to have fun. He’s really good at making everyone feel at ease.”

Tyler laughs weakly because he’s pretty sure he’s not like the other guests they’ve had on this show. For one thing, he’s not musical, although apparently they’ve framed the entire episode around the fact that he used to play baseball, and Dylan’s a huge Mets fan. Maybe it’ll work.

It can’t be that bad.

Shelley pushes the door open and sudden noise nearly blasts Tyler back a step. He blinks and tries to take in the chaos, realizing that the soundproofing has to be damned good if he hadn’t heard it before now.

He already knows everyone in the room. Not that they’ve met, but this foursome has become a household presence since their show launched six months ago. Billed as a modern day version of “The Monkees”, the four were cast as musicians and comedians, almost entirely based upon the strength of their personalities rather than their musicianship. But they’ve spent the last six months proving that they gel even better as musicians than as comedians.

Posey is perched on the windowsill, leaning back as he plays guitar. Holland sits primly on Colton’s knees, hands moving deftly along the neck of her bass, laying down a strong, deep rhythm line. Colton sings, not at all disturbed by Holland’s presence on his lap. And Dylan stands on the couch, drumming against the wall.

Posey starts to crescendo as the song speeds up. Colton matches pace with his words, and Dylan dances in place, drumming furiously. It all ends when Dylan spins and leaps off the couch, sticks striking the hanging chandelier like a chime on his way by before he lands in a crouch then shoots to his feet, sticks in the air.

Shelley clears her throat in the silence.

“Hey.” Posey raises a hand. “We were rehearsing. The baseball song.”

“It didn’t sound like it was about baseball,” Tyler says, not entirely sure what he was listening to, or seeing. He probably should know their music—the rest of the world did—but he hadn’t really listened to it. Not yet.

“It was about balls,” Dylan deadpans. He twirls his drumsticks, mimes running his hands along the length of bat. “And bats. Because you need a few bats with your balls.”

Apparently Posey isn’t the only one with the dick jokes.

Holland swats the back of Dylan’s head as she spills off of Colton’s lap. Colton moves past her, arms wide before he grabs Tyler for a back-thumping hug.

“Glad you’re here,” Colton says. “Don’t let the zoo scare you away.”

 _The Zoo_ seemed like just a name for a TV show band before this moment. But Tyler can see it now, can see how each and every one of them is a little like a freed animal, happy and in the moment. And as he glances at Colton, he realizes, also caged.

Too much philosophy for filming a stupid comedy about a band. Way too much philosophy.

“Hey, dude.” Dylan’s right there, his hand stuck out. “I’m Dyl, and we’ve been dying to meet you. Colton says you kick ass and have amazing chops as an actor. That you worked with Tom fucking Hanks, which is a goal. It’s a total goal.”

Tyler takes his hand, feels the strength in Dylan’s grip as those long fingers wrap around his tightly. “Yeah,” he says. “But I’m not sure that’s going to help me here.”

Posey snorts, and Shelley snickers. That doesn’t help Tyler’s nerves at all.

“We’re not as much of a mess as the show leads you to believe,” Holland says dryly. “Let’s get a few things straight before we get out on the set. One: we may use our own names on the show, but we’re still characters. I adore Colton, but outside of that set, we’re not in bed.”

Tyler shoots a glance at Shelley, uncertain whether this is some kind of awkward flirtation.

Holland smiles thinly. “My boyfriend, Max, will be around later. He plays Andy the Handyman.”

Oh. Right. Tyler’s shoulders ease, and he smiles then, starting to relax.

Holland seems to ease as well, as Tyler takes in the split between reality and fantasy and how they intertwine. “Two: everyone else on the show plays a character and gets to have an actual character name, which is nice for them.”

“Bitter give you wrinkles,” Colton murmurs, brushing a kiss to her temple.

“I have makeup for that,” Holland shoots back. She sighs. “It’s not that I don’t love the show. It’s just a little exhausting when everyone thinks they know you because they see you on their TV every week. And I’m not exactly that same person. I just make a brilliant caricature of myself.”

She turns back to Tyler. “Three: you probably already know that Colton’s not the same as his character and neither am I. With Posey, what you see is what you get, mostly. Dyl—we’re never sure.”

Dylan shrugs, palms up, drumsticks loose in his fingers. “It’s easiest to be completely private when you’re also completely public,” he says. It’s a great concept, and Tyler gets it.

“Has everybody read the pages?” Shelley asks. “We’re going to try to stick to the script today. I’ve already talked to Melissa and she really, really wants this to be a show about baseball. She likes Tyler, she thinks he has some great potential to reach out to a whole new aspect of the viewing audience, and if you don’t scare him off, we want to be able to bring him back for more guest shots.”

“Script calls for me to be a fanboy,” Dylan says. “I can be a fanboy.”

A knock on the door, and an older woman pokes her head in. It takes Tyler a moment to place her, then he remembers her from the work she did behind the camera on one of his movies. “Melissa,” he says, and she smiles broadly.

“Tyler. I’m so glad to have you here.”

“I’m glad to see you out and directing,” he returns, because he remembers what good instincts she had. He wasn’t a main role in the film, far from it, but she was the kind of person who wanted to make sure that everyone had their shot. He appreciated her eye, and thought she was undersold. “And that your first venture is a hit.”

“If it weren’t for Linden and Susan bankrolling this mess, we’d never have gotten off the ground,” Melissa admits. “I’m thankful that they believed in me.”

“Isn’t Linden involved…?” Tyler’s voice trails off as Dylan nods enthusiastically. 

“He plays my dad. Which is awesome, he’s a fantastic dad. My actual mom and dad really like him and Susan, and we’re hoping they come visit for the holidays. Partly because my sister wants to meet Johnny Cage,” he admits with a small shrug. “She’s starstruck. I keep telling her to be starstruck by me, but Jules remembers me stealing her shirts to make weird YouTube videos, so I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”

“Oh.” Tyler’s out of words, not sure how to respond. It’s a relief when Melissa beckons, and the cast filters out onto the set.

The crew moves into the dressing room as they exit, collecting instruments. Tyler may not know music, but he’s enough of a professional to expect that everything the band needs will be available on set and in the right locations when they need it.

“Tyler, I know we should begin with a read through, but that’s not how this crew operates,” Melissa admits, nose wrinkled as she apologizes. “Everyone’s been through their pages, everyone’s memorized the lines. Let’s just jump in and get started blocking. We film everything, and can use footage from any step along the way. That’s what gives us that reality TV show look, even though everything’s scripted. We want those slice of life accidental moments.”

Tyler stands, frozen, at the edge of the set. This is not helping. Anxiety ripples up his back, settles in his shoulders. He flexes his hands, stretches his fingers out.

“Ty?” Shelley’s voice seems to come from a long ways off, echoing inside his head and ears.

He flexes his fingers again, and brushes up against something warm. Long fingers tangle with his, clasp his hand and squeeze gently. When Tyler looks over, Dylan flashes a grin that sparks all the way to his eyes.

Tyler inhales roughly, lets it out slowly.

“So hey,” Dylan murmurs. “My name’s Dylan, and I’m a huge baseball fan. And you’re Barry who plays for the local minor league baseball franchise which just happens to be a feeder team for the Mets. We bumped into each other in the store. Literally, because I ran you over with my cart, and I’m apologizing to you by bringing you home.”

“Why is my name Barry?” It’s a stupid question, but taking the moment to ask helps Tyler remember how to breathe.

“Because on this show we like ridiculous names. Andy the Handyman. Lucy and Landlady—that’s Shelley. And you’re Barry the Baseball Dude.” Dylan flashes a quick grin, leans into Tyler to bump him with his shoulder. “See?”

Tyler nods. Yes. It makes sense. This is a show for the teen and sometimes for the tween set, which, now that he’s met them, it’s a little hard to swallow. But they’re all supposed to be playing kids just out of high school, and that’s the target audience. Tyler opens his mouth, closes it again. There’s noise in the background, and he dimly hears Dylan’s name.

A small tug on his hand, and he stumbles a step forward with Dylan.

“Wait,” Tyler asks, because he can’t remember anything from the pages he memorized. “Why are you bringing me home to apologize?”

“Because how else am I going to bake you an apology cake?” Dylan asks. “I don’t know where you live, and stalking you to find out would be rude. Besides. It gives us a chance for a scene where we all bake and sing and have a flour fight.”

“Oh.” 

Dylan tugs again, and Tyler hears the clack of a clapperboard signaling that film is rolling. Tyler goes along with Dylan, stumbles slightly when Dylan pulls too hard, and suddenly they’re on set, under the bright lights. 

Dylan raises their clasped hands, calls out, “Posey, dude, you will never believe what I found at the grocery store.”

“Our groceries?” Holland asks, and the studio audience snickers.

Studio audience. Tyler can’t look at them or he’ll freeze.

“Barry the baseball dude!” Dylan says gleefully. He drops Tyler’s hand, uses both of his arms to gesture at him. “Just look at him. I ran him over with my cart, and I need to bake him an apology cake. Because this dude is going to play for the Mets someday. The Mets! And I can’t have him being insulted by me.”

“It’s okay,” Tyler manages to say, vaguely remembering that’s his part in this. 

“No, dude, it is not okay that I ran you over, and I am going to make you that apology cake.” Dylan pats his chest, gets a hand on his back and pushes him toward the kitchenette that sits along one side of the set. “Holland, will you help?”

“I don’t bake.” Holland puts her hands up, grabs her bass and settles in on the couch. “Besides. I have to rehearse. You know, that thing you should be doing, when Colton finally gets here, since we have a gig tonight.”

“Want to go to a show tonight?” Dylan asks. He hands Tyler an apron, ties it for him, and Tyler’s just stuck staring at Dylan. The fluid expression, the long fingers. The way he keeps touching Tyler as if to check in on him. Dylan grins and winks, exaggerated for the camera. “Rumor has it I know a guy that can get you backstage.”

Tyler’s not supposed to know who they are. He remembers that now, the script flooding back into his mind. It’s going to be fine. He can do this. He can be silly, and go a little off-script if he needs to. It’s all going go be fine.

There’s a spritz of flour in his face, and when he blinks, Dylan’s laughing. “Dude. Where’d you go?”

Tyler licks his lips as his heart thuds loudly in his chest. Okay. It’s going to be fine except for one thing.

He might have a little crush on Dylan O’Brien.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [very quiet tumblr](http://ididntwannashipit.tumblr.com), too.


End file.
